Down Hell's Road
by Bryan Roskams
A figure of a man lurks in a doorway
On a dimly lit street,
The once busy shops around him
Give off no light or heat.
One by one they had all closed down,
Put the shutters up for good.
There were no customers willing to shop
And no reason why they should.
It was once a thriving busy street
Full of people doing their things,
Friends meeting up, having a drink,
Maybe shopping for diamonds or rings.
The pavement slabs are covered in weeds,
Forcing their way up through the stones
And in the gutter the rotting remains
Of a half eaten roll and chicken bones.
Through a broken window above one of the shops
Loud music drifts to the ground,
The curtain is a blanket, dirty and torn
And it's swaying to the beat of the sound.
There are seven or eight people inside the room
All lying around the floor
There are popping pills and empty lager cans,
Used sharps and syringes galore.
In the far corner of that evil smelling room
A young girl is laid out on her side,
A needle is sticking out from her arm,
Her condition is too obvious to hide.
It was her first time, just for kicks,
To be known as one of the crowd,
Her innocence caused her to overdose,
Now all she'll get is a shroud.
Take heed all people who think is is cool
To be trendy and copy your peers,
Go down 'hell's road' and one day you'll find
They'll be crying for you with your tears.
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